


Past Sins

by Herk



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Character Background, Complete, Gen, Methos centric, Plot, character stuff, you know - the works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 21,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15037301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: After a couple of years, Methos and Duncan meet once again in Seacouver. Everything is like it's used to be. Joe has a bar. Methos bums beer off of his friends. Duncan meets mysterious Immortals who want to kill him. Only this one might not be so easy to kill...Eric Barrow is out for vengeance but when Methos succumbs to some mysterious ailment, his priorities are clear and MacLeod needs to decide how far he can trust the man who an hour ago tried to kill him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is written like an episode of the series (or at least that was the goal) including flashbacks. See if you can spot the obvious commercial breaks later on. This is obviously the pre-titles sequence.

It was a regular evening at Joe's. After twenty years the bar had become a feature in Seacouver's night scene that most people couldn't imagine not being there. The owner, bartender, and blues musician extraordinaire Joe Dawson might be close to retirement age but he wouldn't think for one moment about actually doing so. He loved the club, he loved his music, and he loved his regulars – even those that tended to disappear for a couple of years at a time without any hint or explanation only to appear again out of the blue acting as if nothing had happened. Especially those regulars if he was honest with himself.

The July heat was pressing down hard on the city and Joe was grateful for the relatively cool air that blew in from the ocean. At the bar a terribly familiar lean frame huddled over a bottle of beer and Joe smiled as he went over to pass “Garrett Myles” another bottle. He had long since given up on running a tab on any of Methos' aliases. That was the one thing that never seemed to change about the old man, he was a terribly cheap bastard. Besides, “Garrett” was a young student of theatre and certainly couldn't afford the European brew as anything but a gift from his generous “uncle”.

Methos had suddenly reappeared after 3 years, introduced his new persona and had never uttered a word about what he'd done in the meantime. That had been two months ago. Ever since that day Methos and McLeod (who had only returned from a longer stay in Scotland the week before), met at least once a week here in his bar, drinking, talking, slowly reintroducing themselves to each other.

At first Joe had been worried. Methos seemed sullen, almost depressed, his drinking suddenly taken on an air of desperation that it had seldom held before. But slowly the old man worked his way out of whatever hole he had been lost in and became more and more his old self. And MacLeod obviously had his part in that. As much as Methos complained that he never even knew the meaning of stress-induced headaches before he met the Highlander, the younger Immortal and his familiarity helped to calm the old man. Joe was sure his own presence helped too, but Duncan, well it was different with them both being immortal.

 

Methos took the new bottle with a “thanks” and a smile.

 

“Mac's late tonight, huh?”

 

The old man leaned back on his barstool. “I'm no overzealous mother hen, Joe. He probably just had a run in with a bunch of tourists hopelessly lost and he HAD to play the knight in shining armour. Or Amanda dropped in for a quick romp. She hasn't done so this decade, so she's overdue for a visit.”

 

“You're probably right, it's just **_I_** get worried. It might have been a while but he's still the same basic trouble magnet.” Joe poured himself a generous whiskey. He wasn't scheduled to play tonight and he wasn't the kind of man who let a friend drink alone. “So how's that play coming along?”

 

“Ah you know, modern approach, very artful and all that. Don't ask me why, but apparently I'm the perfect Ophelia and I need to be naked in the drowning scene.”

 

“I wasn't even aware there WAS a drowning scene on stage.” Joe wasn't easy to bewilder.

 

Methos snorted. “See you immediately saw the problem with... that.” Methos' voice trailed off as his eyes darted to the entrance. He was expecting the Highlander so there was no real surprise. And yet each and every time he felt the buzz, a part of him was ready to bolt in a heartbeat.

 

But indeed it was only MacLeod who entered, a bit disgruntled looking maybe but without any unwelcome surprises such as another Immortal or obvious traces of a fight.

 

Joe had Mac's whiskey already ready and waiting when the immortal Scot reached the bar.

 

“I swear – kids these days.” MacLeod took the glass and took a careful sip, savouring the taste.

 

“What happened?” Joe immediately went into watcher mode. Although he was officially retired from field work, he was still MacLeod's chronicler after all.

 

“Some kid, I guess it hasn't even been a decade since his first death, approached me over at High Street walked up straight up to me and asked me if I was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. When I told him, that was I indeed, he told me, he would execute me for murdering Thomas Kaczmareck. I'm not to keen on killing some kid who tries to avenge his teacher, so I tried to talk some sense into him, but he attacked.”

 

“So you took his head? You look mighty good for taking a quickening.”

 

“Na, the kid fled. My heart wasn't in it, so I let him go. It's hardly his fault his teacher was a murderous bastard.”

 

Methos shook his head. “One of these days that's going to come back and bite you in the ass you know?”

 

“I'll deal with it when it comes to that, besides, since when are you so keen on taking heads?”

 

“I'm also not keen on stupidity by the ways of sentimentality, but you won't listen to my wise words anyway, so why do I even bother? As you said 'kids these days'.”


	2. An Identity Revealed

Of course Methos was the last patron to leave Joe's. He always was, unless things went seriously wrong. He still wondered about Kaczmareck's pupil. He'd met the guy once and while he wouldn't necessarily agree with MacLeod's assessment of him being a murdering bastard, he wondered how that guy had found the patience for a student. One clever enough to run from a fight with MacLeod nonetheless. He really hoped his friend's confidence wouldn't prove to be his downfall. MacLeod was good, very good, but no one was perfect and he had seen better swordsmen with more experience fall to young Immortals whose first death had been less than a year before.

 

Methos wondered if there was anything he could do – like convincing MacLeod to just leave for Paris for a while, but he was pretty sure that was a lost cause right from the start. The Highlander was a stubborn bastard after all.

 

He was more than halfway on his way to his current flat, letting the night air clear his thoughts and help with the latent headache that was rearing its ugly head at the back of his consciousness when he suddenly felt the buzz of another Immortal. He immediately tensed and his hand went under his coat, ready to draw out a sword, or a small pistol, whichever he would deem more appropriate.

 

“Relax, it's only me.”

 

Methos' hand sank from the hilt of his sword. He hadn't heard that particular voice in over thirty years and he certainly hadn't expected to hear it right now. He didn't expect a duel, still the tension didn't exactly leave his frame.

 

“Eric?”

 

Out of the shadows a man of the same apparent age as Methos appeared. The oldest Immortal took a moment to make a quick inventory of the man before him. He wore his hair relatively long by today's fashion standards and he had lightened his natural colour a shade or two with the help of modern chemistry. He was a bit shorter and not quite as lean as Methos but like the older one he used slightly ill-fitting clothes to appear younger and therefore harmless. Methos wondered if he ever mastered the body language to go with that image, because right now there was a certain arrogance in his stance that ruined the picture of harmless innocence. On the other hand it perfectly conveyed a picture of angry youth, Methos wasn't naïve enough to take that at face value though. He knew, pretty much to the day, that Eric was 162 years old and had become immortal 138 years ago. By Immortal standards he wasn't exactly a child, but he wasn't old and experienced either.

 

“It's been a while.”

 

“If I remember correctly it was you who stormed off yelling at me for being a 'spineless bastard'.” Methos was surprised that those words held a trace of a sting. He usually couldn't care less.

 

This actually seemed to embarrass Eric who lowered his gaze a moment. “I'm sorry about that. I tried to apologise after I calmed down, but well it was a couple of months later and you ARE terribly hard to find, Father.”

 

Methos sighed. “That is kind of the point. It's 'Garrett Myles' at the moment by the way.” The tension was now gone and Methos slowly walked up to the younger man, pulling him into a tight embrace. When he let go at last a lot of the anger had seeped out of the other man.

 

“Eric Magnusson,” he introduced himself.

 

“Really? I thought I'd taught you better than that.” Methos shook his head

 

“It's seven billion people on this planet, Father. The same Christian name will hardly give me away, and I do switch second names, family names, and nationality regularly.”

 

Methos started walking in the direction of his home again and Eric fell in beside him.

 

“What about professions?” He demanded to know.

 

Eric actually rolled his eyes “There's only so much you can do with the limited time frame we have in each identity but I try to vary as much as possible. And no I still haven’t studied either medicine nor law. Neither of those is really my forte.”

 

“Well people change, maybe one day you will. A parent can only hope.” This was said with so much agonising pathos that actually both of them couldn't help but laugh.

 

When they reached his home, Methos invited his son in. “You'll join me for a beer?”

 

Eric nodded. He was afraid that sooner or later he'd have to address the elephant in the room, but in his experience his father always was more relaxed with a good brew in his hand.

 

The flat was small but well cut and relatively empty. Methos immediately went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles tossing one towards Eric.

 

The blonde took a critical look around the flat. “So I guess Garrett isn't exactly wealthy?”

 

Methos snorted. “I love to indulge myself, but it's a bad habit to develop habits. Therefore poor, poor Garret has little to no funds and lives hand-to-mouth.” He took a deep swig from his bottle and sprawled himself on the second hand sofa dominating his small living area.

 

Eric leaned against the kitchen counter and took a good mouthful from his own bottle waiting for the inevitable.

 

“So, since we established I'm terribly hard to find. What IS the reason that brought you to Seacouver?”

 

“I followed someone named MacLeod here.”

 

Methos closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “So you are that 'kid' he talked about earlier.” He put the bottle down and actually sat up more or less straight and looked directly at Eric. “Why?”

 

The knuckles around Eric's bottle went white as he fought hard to keep control. “Because MacLeod is a murderous, self-righteous bastard. And he killed someone I cared about.”

 

“Kaczmareck? MacLeod thinks he was your teacher.”

 

Eric snorted. It was a sound without any trace of humour. “We both know who my real teacher was. Thomas couldn't have held a candle to you.” He looked thoughtful “You know MacLeod, I wonder if knowing you taught me will throw him off-balance?”

 

“Eric, no matter what, MacLeod will beat you. I've seen him fighting and you are no match for him. Stop this now while you still can.”

 

“I won't.”

 

“Vengeance isn't worth dying for!” Methos snapped.

 

“Nothing is to you.” Eric's voice had grown cold.

 

“Eric, please, MacLeod is my friend, don't do this.”

 

“He killed Thomas. I'll keep you out of it, that's as far as I'll go.” He put down his bottle and turned to leave.

 

“Eric...” but Methos' pleading was in vain. His son left without looking back leaving him with his face buried in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry this WILL stay cannon compliant.
> 
>  
> 
> I've lost contact to my old beta a while ago - so if you know of anyone willing to proofread (especially commas) please point them in my direction.


	3. Flashback- Winch Wen, 1855

It had been time for a change. Methos looked forward to being Rhys Barrow a young biologist recently returned from his first scientific expedition, now settling down to write and illustrate some marvellous little book. The best thing about Rhys was of course the small fortune he inherited which meant he wouldn't have to forbid himself all the small little luxuries he was so fond of. Yes, being Rhys would be one of his nicer identities.

 

When he first arrived at Winch Wen, he settled at the local inn until he could find some more permanent accommodations. He hadn't even finished unpacking that first evening when he heard some commotion downstairs. As someone whose curiosity was reined in by a healthy dose of self-preservation, he waited until whatever had occurred calmed down again before going down. When he finally made it into the common room, he could see that some kind of brawl had obviously happened and now the participants licked their wounds. And that's when he first saw the woman. Obviously she was the closest Winch Wen had to a healer because she was busy treating a man with a bleeding split wound on his forehead. She was still young but her life and responsibilities had already left her with a maturity and quiet authority that immediately caught Methos' attention.

 

Later that evening after she had finished her work, she actually agreed to Rhys' invitation for dinner and that was that. She was intelligent, with a warm, friendly sense of humour and by the end of the evening Methos knew he was lost. At that point he didn't even care that as a young widow she came with an elderly mother and a toddler. He had helped to raise children before. And when Rhys' wealth went more into making a small family's life easier than just into his own well-being then that's the way it was. Joanna didn't seem to be disinclined towards his affections either and they parted relatively late that night with the promise of meeting up the next day.

 

As courtships went this one was quite unspectacular. Joanna showed Rhys around her home village, pointing out all the beautiful little spots she knew since childhood while he in turn told her about his travels and all the places he had seen.

 

Her husband, Jack, had died about a year ago in the Crimean War, far from home, to stop the evil Russian empire. Joanna actually shook her head as she told him that. “It's a pity how all those people in government decide who is evil and who isn't. I'm pretty sure they are just people trying to get on with their lives the same as us, but for some reason they are the enemy and that is so important that good men like my Jack have to die for it.” She wasn't bitter, she was just genuinely sad and it made Methos fall in love a little bit more.

 

It was about two weeks before she first took him home, sure enough of his intentions and her own heart to risk introducing him to her mother and child.


	4. Psycological Warfare

Over the course of the next weeks Duncan MacLeod learned to slowly but surely hate the young Immortal who had declared he would kill him. He had no problem with an honest sword fight but apparently the kid – Duncan couldn't even put a name to the face – wanted to make his life a living hell first.

 

When he first was woken in the middle of the night by a nearby Immortal's buzz, he thought the kid had finally decided to fight. When it happened the sixth time in three weeks, he knew better. It was almost impossible to get a good night's sleep, even without the buzz actually happening because he now just waited for it and his body refused to relax into deep sleep. The buzz also just came into his perception and then disappeared again regularly during the day, almost always in crowded places and while he sometimes saw the kid retreating, he never got close enough to actually talk let alone fight with him. Macleod's mood grew steadily worse and he had reached a point where he just wanted to kill the kid to get it over with.

 

“You know, Mac? What you are talking about, that sounds far too clever for someone who was taught by Kaczmareck. That guy was too impatient for any such tactics.” Joe was beginning to actually worry about the Highlander. Dark circles around the eyes were not something he expected to see on an Immortal's face.

 

“Well, maybe he just stumbled upon a kid who was devious and clever by nature, how should I know. All I know is he's driving me crazy.”

 

“It's possible I guess but usually teachers choose their students for compatible personality. I mean you wouldn't teach an absolute psycho and someone like Kaczmareck wouldn't have chosen a student who was cleverer than him. He would have been too afraid that person would turn on him.”

 

“And suddenly YOU are an expert on Immortal psychology?” MacLeod really had no patience for Joe's idle musings.

 

“Well, I did read his file and looked up the other students he'd had over the centuries. All three of them were more like him: direct, a bit simple.” Duncan's facial expression told very eloquently what he thought about the Watcher's files and their usefulness. Joe raised his hands in a pacifying gesture and took a half-step back. “Woah buddy, I'm only trying to help.”

 

“Then try putting a name to that face, that might actually help.”

 

Joe sighed. “I already told you, Kaczmareck's file ends March 1991. Out of the blue he managed to lose his watcher and he didn't reappear until he had that fatal little run in with you two years ago. And he's the only connection we got for your psycho-kid.”

 

Duncan forced himself to calm down. Biting Joe's head of wasn't going to help with anything. The Watcher was his friend and it was hardly his fault that this kid managed to actually get under his skin. When he felt another buzz, Duncan almost jumped out of his skin. He was halfway on the way to the door with his sword in hand when Methos entered. The older Immortal immediately took a step back as he saw the Highlander approach him with a sword. MacLeod stopped as he recognized his old friend and put his katana away.

 

“Damn.” He closed his eyes for a moment in weary frustration.

 

“Amen to that. What the hell is going on Highlander?” Methos didn't take kindly to someone coming at him with a drawn sword at the best of times. And this was hardly one of those.

 

Duncan's hand wiped over his face as he went over to the bar. He was lucky Joe's hadn't officially opened yet for the day and they were the only people in here. Joe watched him worriedly as he came back and pulled up the barstool he had kicked over when he'd jumped up. “Are you OK, buddy?”

 

“Obviously NOT,” Methos' acerbic tones cut in. “He usually greets any buzz like an excited puppy eager to see his owner coming home.”

 

Duncan sighed. “It's that kid I told you about. The one wanting vengeance for Kaczmareck. He's been playing silly games with me ever since that first encounter.”

 

“Don't seem so silly to me.”

 

“Joe's right, Highlander. This is obviously not just some game. Maybe you should just take a vacation somewhere else.”

 

“I won't run away from some little psycho. He has to come out sometime and when he does, I will be ready.” Grim determination settled on Duncan's face.

 

Methos just sighed. “I'm outta here.”

 

Duncan watched perplexed as his friend left as fast as he had arrived. “Now what was that all about?”

 

Joe shrugged. “You know as well as I do that he hates watching his friends walk towards their doom open-eyed. And maybe being greeted with a drawn sword startled him a bit. Who knows, Mac?”

 

Duncan managed a sheepish smile. “I probably should have apologized.”

 

“Yeah, you think so?” Joe shook his head. For a bunch of centuries old men his friends could be stunningly stupid.

 

Outside Methos decided to try one last time to appeal to the common sense of at least one of the people involved.

 


	5. Flashback: Decisions

1855

Rhys Barrow was sitting in the common room drowning his sorrows in the local variant of hard liquor. Over the last weeks the landlord had come to know Rhys as a friendly, earnest young man who liked a good beer but wasn't prone to lose himself in spirits. He couldn't help but be worried about this sudden change in behaviour, especially as he was very fond of Joanna and only wished the best for her.

 

Methos downed his sixth (or seventh) glass of the local booze and considered his options. This morning he was sure that he would spend the next couple of decades with Joanna, telling her his secret as it became necessary, moving when the circumstances demanded it. A mortal child was a complication but not an unmanageable one and there was not much to think about really. He would deal with anything regarding the child as it developed. And now, now he suddenly had to make a choice, either leave tonight (because dragging it out would be beyond cruel) or commit to something far greater than he had done in several millennia. How big were the chances of him falling in love with the foster mother of a pre-Immortal child?

*

1858

“What are you doin' there?”

 

Methos smiled fondly at the five year old blonde who had stopped his game of make-believe to see what he was doing. “I'm writing something down your mother told me. About the way she makes her herbs stay fresh for as long as they do.”

 

“Can you show me how, Father?”

 

Joanna busy kneading some dough for bread looked over to her husband and son with a loving smile. “I think it's about time you started teaching Eric his letters, Rhys,”

*

1865

“Do you understand why we have to move?” Joanna studied her son carefully.

 

The twelve year old before her considered everything that they had explained to him, then nodded. “Father is different, people are starting to notice so we have to start anew. And now that granny's dead there is no reason to stay.” There was a slight pause. “I'm going to miss Winch Wen.”

 

“Me too,” Joanna admitted. “But there really is no alternative.”

*

1869

“So what you are telling me, is that there are certain rules to being an Immortal, sword-fight is very much required and one day I'll be an Immortal as well.”

 

Rhys gave his son one of his weird non-committal half-smiles. “Your mother and I discussed when to tell you. It's not exactly an easy thing to comprehend, but we both agreed you are old enough now and – well here we are.”

 

Eric had known that his father wasn't like other people for years. Him looking so young was just part of who he was, like his love for books, his sense of humour, the way he looked at his mother when he thought no one would see it. He somehow couldn't combine all the things he knew about his father with the image of a sword wielding fighter. 

 

And he would be the same. 

 

Never ageing once he'd died for the first time. Watching his mother grow old and die. Having to learn to bear a sword just to make sure he survived. He wasn't sure he was cut out for this. In fact he was pretty sure he wasn't. At the moment he felt more like crying than anything.

 

“I know this is a lot to take in Eric, but you are in a far better position than most people. You will be able to see the future, live through it. You won't get ill. You won't grow old. And you won't be alone.” He took his son's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

 

“You said there is some game and that many believe that 'there can be only one'. I don't want to have to fight you.”

 

Inwardly Methos cursed himself. Eric was far too clever for his own good and idiot that he was he had dropped too much information on the boy. He moved over and pulled him into an embrace.

 

“You don't have to. You never will. Just because some Immortals are suicidal fools doesn't mean you have to be. The best way to survive a fight is to never even fight it. I'll teach you whatever you need to know and I certainly won't ever come after your head.” Sometimes being a parent required that you could lie quickly and convincingly, which was one of the things Methos had always been good at.

*

1881

“Are you sure you’re thoroughly prepared?” Methos was not going to do this until Eric was certain he was ready.

 

Eric nodded. “You said yourself that I'm at the perfect age, old enough to live a full life, getting married if I want to, anything really. And that I'm still in my physical prime. If we wait too long, I will have to train a lot harder to stay in top fighting condition. I thought about it for some time and yes I'm sure.”

 

Methos nodded, ”Well then better get yourself changed. Or do you want to ruin that shirt with blood?”

 

Eric gave him a foolish grin. “You're right, it is one of my better ones.” He turned while he pulled the shirt over his head ready to push it over the chair behind him. The moment his back was half-turned and he wasn't expecting it, Methos pushed a knife through his ribs right into the heart. The old man thought the avoidance of frightful anticipation was worth a ruined shirt.


	6. Confrontation

It took Methos almost three days to find Eric. He knew the current alias and he knew his son’s preferences but Seacouver was not a small town and Eric had gone to at least some length not to be found immediately. Although this inconvenienced him at the moment, he was also relieved to see that he hadn’t brought up a complete fool. A small flat instead of a hotel was far less traceable and the neighbourhood almost guaranteed that no one would raise an eyebrow at weird comings and goings. On the plus side for Methos it also meant no one would raise an eyebrow at a little discrete breaking and entering. He might not be Amanda but you picked up at least some skills over the millennia. The flat was furnitured sparsely. This was no place Eric expected to stay for any considerable amount of time. There was no sign of anything personal, just the bare living necessities. It was a sensible approach if you planned to leave at any moment and considering what Eric was here to do, well it shouldn’t have been too surprising that he didn’t get too comfy. Yet still, the sight depressed Methos. Despite his best efforts, Eric hadn’t exactly been the sensible type. At the bottom of his heart the boy was a romantic and idealist, a fact that had lead to a lot - well most - of their fights over the years. To enter a place Eric called home (however temporarily) and not find at least a print of “Yellow, Red, Blue” and a handful of battered books next to the bed was disconcerting. He opened the fridge out of sheer force of habit and found nothing but a six pack of a German import with a handwritten note on a post-it stuck to it. It read “Enjoy while you’re waiting - E” in a familiar hand.

 

When Eric came home he felt the familiar buzz as he approached the door. It didn’t really startle him. There were not many people - immortal or otherwise - who could have found him and he had been expecting a visit by his father anyway, so he didn’t take any precautions before turning his keys and entering. As expected he found his old man on the old flea ridden couch that had come with the flat a bottle in his hand.

 

“It took you long enough - I expected you sooner.” Eric observed his father cautiously, hoping to glimpse a bit of the often carefully guarded feelings behind the mask of nonchalance.

 

“I held out the hope that one of the two of you would come to his senses without me interfering.” He tossed Eric an unopened bottle of beer.

 

The fact that his father hadn’t done much more than started his first bottle yet it still looked as if he had waited for quite some time drove home the point that he took this very serious. Eric waited.

 

“Now I decided to try and talk to the less stubborn idiot which means  _ you  _ by the way and if that isn’t a sure sign of desperate times…”

 

Eric opened his bottle. “Most people who want something from someone wouldn’t start by calling them an idiot,” he pointed out without any bite. He took a deep swig.

 

Methos shrugged. “How long have you known me?”

 

Despite the fact that this was more a rhetorical question, meant to keep the conversation flippant and non-committal for now, Eric decided to answer it seriously.

 

“All my life basically. I can hardly remember the time before you started courting Mother.” His voice was full of emotion, fondness, regret, traces of old repressed anger, sadness and love.

 

A part of Methos hated himself for his next move but he was desperate. “And after all that time, would you say I did right by you?” His gaze bore into the boy’s face, until Eric looked away.

 

“Yes, yes you did.” The admittance wasn’t exactly easy, especially since Eric knew of course what would come next.

 

“I never asked anything of you, Eric, but MacLeod…”

 

He was interrupted by Eric crashing his half-empty beer bottle against a wall. “MacLeod killed Thomas.”

 

Suddenly Methos understood and he saw how futile any of his attempts had to be. He slumped down, seeing his last bit of hope die. “You slept with Kaczmareck.”

 

Eric’s face barely held back the tears of anger. “The sex is hardly what this is about. I  **loved** Thomas and he loved me. I don’t care that he wasn’t perfect. I really couldn’t care less that it was probably him who dragged MacLeod into a fight. That Scot took the head of the man I planned to spend the next couple of centuries with and he will pay for it.”

 

Methos should have gone over to Eric, should have tried to calm him down. He should have been there for his son who so obviously needed to be reminded that he was loved. Instead the old man fled. 

 

When he saw his last bit of hope to end this peacefully being crushed, he was hit by a wave of nausea and the only thing he was able to do was flee the scene before Eric saw how badly he was being affected. Methos stumbled through late evening Seacouver fighting tears of pain over a mind-numbing headache. A very small part of him - between the bouts of nausea and the piercing pain in his skull - realised that this wasn’t normal. He was an Immortal. He didn’t get ill. And he had left the realm of simple stress-induced inconvenience far, far behind. If he wasn’t feeling so goddamn awful he might have started to worry but right now all he could think of was getting somewhere safe, getting home.


	7. Flashback - The Promise

Joanna hated to admit it but in the deepest depth of her heart she was a cuddler. During the day she was a busy no-nonsense woman who had both feet firmly on the ground. She prided herself in keeping her son and husband grounded in the realities of day-to-day life. But in the night, when Eric was fast asleep in his own bed, when she should try to get some much needed sleep after a long day, she loved to cuddle next to Rhys - or Ben as he’d been called before he became her husband - listening to his voice telling her stories from long ago and far away, some he had read about and some he had lived through. She knew how lucky she was finding a second husband after she was widowed so early and a husband like Rhys nonetheless. He was a gentle man, a thoughtful lover, and a loving father to Eric and he indulged them both in ways she wouldn’t have ever thought possible whenever he could.

 

Learning that Rhys would never age would have sent many a woman into doubting their future. After all why would a handsome, healthy, youthful man stay with an old, increasingly frail woman. But Joanna knew Rhys. She wasn’t asking ‘why’ for a moment, she only thought about the ‘how’ and had worked out several plans long before it would become necessary.

 

Her head resting on his chest, the scent of their lovemaking still in the air, she felt as if nothing bad could ever happen to them. It was a shame that she was too clever to actually fall for that lie for too long.

 

“Rhys, what will happen, when I’m gone?”

 

She felt him tense below her. He hated the thought of her mortality and prefered not to be reminded of it. Her hand gently stroke his chest reminding him that she was still there, very much alive.

 

“Now Joanna, you think of that now?”

 

Her mouth curved into a sweet little smile against his skin. “You are the one who taught me that the French call it ‘the little death’.” She kissed his nipple gently.

 

She got a small chuckle out of him although he didn’t completely relax. “You’re right of course, although I prefer ‘la petite mort’ over the actual thing any day.”

 

“I’m thinking of Eric, Rhys. I know he won’t be a boy forever, but a mother can’t help but worry.”

 

He stroke her hair. “He’s going to live a long and full life. He’ll see things even Mr Verne hasn’t dreamed of yet. He will never grow ill.”

 

“Until one day someone takes his head.”  She stated matter-of-factly. He hadn’t held much back when he had told her about the rules of being an Immortal.

 

“One day everybody has to die. There are worse ways to go and at least he’ll always have a chance. I’m making sure of that.” He sounded atypically determined.

 

“I know, Rhys. That’s not what I worry about. but living for centuries instead of decades, maybe longer, leaving all you love behind time and again.” She changed her position to actually look at him. “Stay with him.”

 

He looked at her open and sad face. So much compassion in such a small place. She pleaded with him not only for Eric’s but at least as much for his sake. He wanted to protest. Binding himself to another Immortal like that was a stupid and in the long run a suicidal idea. Before he could bring himself to tell her that, or a convenient lie, though, she laid a finger on his lips.

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t or don’t intend to keep. I know you can’t stay with him forever, no parent can and he has to grow up, but… family means that no matter what, you can always come back and the other person will be there for you. Because no matter the sacrifices necessary, no matter what disagreements or arguments stand between you they can never outweigh the foundation of love.”

 

‘Never’ in Methos’ experience was a word that would always come back to bite you in the ass in the end. But she didn’t expect an answer, she just wanted him to listen. A part of him was still astonished that a woman like Joanna had taken a lost stray like him in. He ended this conversation by leaning in and kissing her, sending all the love he felt but couldn’t express otherwise through the touch of his lips.

***

 

An old frail woman, knowing that her time had finally come and she wouldn’t see another morning, Joanna looked at the youthful face of her lover and husband. Their son was standing next to the only father he’d ever known, both young and beautiful and healthy for eternity. She smiled for them, telling them in her own way that age wasn’t terrifying, that death was nothing she feared. She lifted her hand slowly and with some difficulty to caress Rhys’ face. His eyes were so indefinitely sad. He had known, he would lose her. And although he had often claimed that he was a coward at heart, he had stayed. He hadn’t left her. He hadn’t already moved on in his mind to make the last goodbye less painful. He was here for her completely, her Rhys.

 

Methos took Joanna’s hand in his, looked into her eyes. “I promise.” There was no need for any explanations, she saw in his face what he meant.

 


	8. A Dark And Stormy Night

It was a dark and rainy night in Seacouver. August was nearing its end and the heatwave was finally broken most residents welcomed the downpour even if it was accompanied by rather harsh wind. It was a night where anyone who could would stay indoors. Some people nevertheless were up and about, chasing through the rain thanking or cursing the weather for their own reasons.

 

Eric was pretty sure that he had lost MacLeod in the terrible visibility of the middle of the night. The storm had managed to knock out the electricity and with it the streetlights. He hadn’t seen or rather not seen this kind of darkness in the last couple of decades. It was a rare sight to find in the civilised Western world in this day and age. And if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t exactly missing it. But right now he was really grateful. He doubted he could have shaken the Highlander off of his tail under less favourable circumstances. He had thought he was finally ready for the confrontation but despite the disorientation and the anger, the damn Scot had managed to turn the tables and nearly taken his head. He had barely managed to escape with the Highlander determined to end this and following him like a possessed madman. After almost an hour of chasing, backtracking, and pulling almost every trick in his book, he was now reasonably sure he had lost MacLeod. But he was also drenched to the bone and pretty far from his own hideout.

 

A quick reorientation told Eric where he was and, well, there was a very obvious rooftop window close to his current position that would solve his current problems even if it was just in the short run. He dreaded the kind of lecture that would come with taking that window but he was drenched to the bone and exhausted and he was more than ready to face a little chastisement if it meant getting into dry boxers.

 

He reached the window in question in less than 3 minutes and opening it was ridiculously easy. His father wouldn’t fear mortal burglars and he would always be able to tell Immortal ones were coming way better than any alarm. The buzz told Eric that the old man was in and he entered the flat talking to ensure that any possible sword blade would stop at his throat.

 

“It’s just me, I was surprised by the rain and I’m half-drowned. I hope you don’t mind too much but your place was close and…”

 

Eric trailed of and looked around suspiciously. No one had stirred. No blade anywhere near his body and no bullets anywhere in it to slow him down just in case. He pulled out his own blade searching for the other Immortal, intruding in this flat. Whoever’s buzz he felt, it couldn’t be his father. He pulled out his own sword and started searching the rooms all thoughts of cold, wet, clingy clothes forgotten for the moment. If someone was in here besides the old man it was more than possible that that person had killed (or maybe planned to kill) his father, a notion he didn’t take too kindly. He started slowly and systematically searching the flat. It wasn’t too big but he made absolutely sure that he couldn’t miss anyone in the bathroom, behind the kitchen counter or in a closet before he opened the bedroom door. On the bed he found his father lying there - asleep, not stirring to the buzz of another Immortal entering his safe haven.

 

Eric hesitated for a moment unsure what to do. But since obviously every head in this room was still attached and no one but the two of them were here he put his sword away first, slowly taking the few steps towards the bed.

 

“Father?”

 

There was no reaction and this frankly frightened the living hell out of Eric. Leaning over the lying form, he could see that the old man was covered in a film of cold sweat. He seemed to have been here for quite a while if the state of his clothes was any indicator. Eric’s hand carefully went up to his father’s forehead. He seemed to run a fever and there was no reaction to the touch whatsoever.

 

“Father?” He gently shook him. “OK either you’ve lied to me for no discernible reason or something is seriously wrong.” Eric went to the kitchen sink and filled a glass with water, but even emptying that over the unconscious man’s face lead to no reaction. He tried slapping him but to no avail. When he tried closing the mouth and nose to force the survival instincts to pull him out of it, he got his father to struggle until he could breathe again but at no point did he come to.

 

Eric had never studied medicine and his knowledge of options was limited. He could also hardly call an ambulance, so after a moment’s consideration he pulled out a knife and pushed it quickly between the ribs into the heart. With a quick lurch the body changed from living to dead. He waited a moment after the heart stopped beating before pulling the knife out and waited.

 

It was a clean and easy wound to heal. As ways to die went, a clean cut to the heart was almost the fastest and easiest damage to repair and indeed it didn’t take more than two moments until the heart started beating and with a gasp his father started breathing again. Only against all odds he never opened his eyes

 

“What? Wake up dammit. You told me that a death was the easiest way to repair any kind of damage quickly, so don’t you dare not waking up.” But despite his shaking of the unconscious man he still got no reaction at all.

 

Eric wasn’t exactly easy to frighten but right now he was as close to a panic attack as he’d ever been. He jumped up and started pacing the flat trying to think of something, anything, he hadn’t tried yet. But he simply lacked the experience. He had no idea what might have caused this. And the only person he could have asked was currently not available due to some inexplicable coma. It took him about fifteen minutes of pacing until he had calmed himself enough to start searching the flat. His father was a notorious keeper of a diary, maybe he could find a hint, any hint, of what the hell might have caused this. About an hour later he had finally found the damn thing only to find out that it was written in some cypher he had never seen before. He had a good solid education with more or less fluent French and Latin, even if his father always mocked his pronunciation, but this was neither. The old man was a fan of old and long forgotten languages but somehow Eric never felt the need to  learn Babylonian, Sumerian, Greek, or any of those old tongues. After all if he ever really needed something this old translated he could always ask an expert, like his father. He barely managed to stop himself from throwing the diary against the wall. The old man’s mobile was useless as well. He had no idea which of the contacts might know about Immortality or might be immortal themselves. When he listened to the messages on the mailbox there was only one, by Joe - probably the guy from the bar - telling him that MacLeod was worried that he had scared him off and to drop in sometime to at least ease the Highlander’s worry on that regard. If he had to take a bet, Eric would say this Joe guy knew about Immortals but it was far from a safe bet after this one message.

 

He needed an Immortal. Someone with more experience than him. Someone who knew his father was an Immortal and who wouldn’t be a danger to the helpless man.

 

There really was only one obvious solution.


	9. Going into the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only ONE place Eric can go to now. And it won't be pretty.

MacLeod was not happy. He had spent the last 3 hours trying to pick up a trail he had lost and fruitlessly at that. The damn kid had escaped him once again and that after he had almost beaten him. Although the rain and the wind had stopped about an hour ago, he was of course still wet and even in August at 3AM it was far too cool to run around like this. He was grateful that his coat had protected him from the worst. A couple of late night people were on their way home. Even in the worst of weather some people wouldn’t let anything stop them from partying on a Saturday night and with the electricity now restored it almost seemed as if the world was back to normal. For Duncan it wasn’t. The world hadn’t been normal for almost two months now and it could only return to anything resembling his life after he had taken care of that psycho-kid. He wanted to go home but on the other hand he wasn’t able to relax there any more either, with his sleep constantly being interrupted by a buzz just brushing against his consciousness only to disappear before he was fully awake. He was almost glad that Joe’s text gave him an excuse not to go there yet. “Get your ass over to the bar” wasn’t exactly the friendliest plea for help. But if the storm had damaged “Joe’s” he could easily understand his friend’s need for using expletives. The phone service was still a bit shoddy after the storm so Duncan just decided to walk over there when he wasn’t able to reach his friend’s phone directly, not thinking much about it.

 

When he entered Joe’s he could feel a buzz and was immediately feeling better. Joe had obviously reached Methos or the old man had decided on his own to search shelter from the storm in here. Well whatever the reason, he now had the opportunity to apologise for his nervous overreaction the other day. Then his day wouldn’t be a total loss.

 

Only when he came down the stairs he could see Joe not with Methos but with…

 

He stormed through the room drawing his sword in one fluid motion. “YOU!”

 

“Mac!” Joe did his best to get in between him and the kid and even in his rage Mac stopped short of attacking his mortal friend. He shoved him roughly out of the way but the voice had time to penetrate the red fog of anger clouding his mind.

 

“Mac stop it, he’s unarmed. He’s helpless, Mac.”

 

The Highlander barely stopped himself from just beheading the kid then and there. He took a  moment with his sword at his nemesis’ throat to assess the situation and indeed the younger man had his empty hands up in the air standing perfectly still.

 

“Get your sword out,” he growled. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to kill an unarmed man.

 

“No.” The kid was quietly defiant but obviously not willing to give an inch.

 

“Get. Your, Sword. Out.” With each word he pushed his sword a little harder against the other man’s throat.

 

“He couldn’t even if he wanted, Mac. **_I_** have his sword.”

 

“What?!” Duncan’s head turned while he still pinned the kid to the wall with his katana..

 

“He gave it to me, first thing after he came in. Even before he asked me to send you a text.” Whatever the little twat had told Joe had obviously convinced his friend that he shouldn’t just be killed. Duncan was shocked to see Joe of all people teaming up against him with another Immortal, especially this one.

 

“Why,” he demanded to know.

 

“Because I’m desperate.” He seemed to choke more on the words than on the sword at his throat.

 

“You are hardly in a position where you can expect my pity.”

 

Joe was almost frightened seeing MacLeod like this. He had seen how stressed and on the edge the Highlander had grown over the last months but now seeing that murderous glitter in the eyes of a man, Joe knew to be pretty gentle and indisputable honourable, was quite a shock.

 

“This isn’t about me.”

 

“Then who is it about, and just so you know the list of names you could utter now that would actually stop me from killing you is very, very short.”

 

“Garrett Myles.”

 

Duncan’s brow furrowed until Joe chimed in. “It’s _his_ current alias, Mac.”

 

“Methos?”

 

Now that was something Eric hadn’t expected. He knew a couple of dozen names that his father had used over the years, had always known there had been more. But he had been under the impression that Dr. Benjamin Adams was the earliest, the “real” name. Over the course of his life he had heard a couple of rumours about Methos, but it was nothing more than that, a legendary figure, “the first Immortal”. Some people might believe in it but he had inherited a healthy dose of skepsis from his… father.

 

“Damn that bastard,” he mumbled as he realised that his old man had kept a detail such as this from him.

 

“What?” Duncan wasn’t in the mood for half-heard mumbles and cursing.

 

“My name,” the kid started, “is Eric Barrow. I’m here because my father is in trouble and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about, kid?”

 

“I was born 1853 in a little village called Winch Wen. My parents were Joanna and Rhys Barrow.” Eric’s gaze almost seemed to want to run through MacLeod in its intensity.

 

Duncan’s face clearly showed that he saw little to no relevance in that fact.

 

“Mac,” Joe pleaded, “THINK. He was born in the 1850s. His father is in trouble NOW.”

 

“That’s impossible.”

 

Eric actually had the audacity to snort in disgust at his statement. “Even in the 16th century they sure knew the concept of re-marriages and adoptions, didn’t they?”

 

“So who’s your father today?”

 

“You really aren’t good at listening, are you? I already told you: Garrett Myles.”

 

MacLeod pulled his sword from Eric’s throat only to punch him in the face with his free hand, resulting in a satisfying crunch.

 

Joe watched the two men who were obviously both ready and willing to kill the other and barely held themselves back.

 

“What kind of trouble is Methos in?”

 

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need your help, MacLeod.”

 

Duncan’s fist came down on the bar hard. “You certainly are as annoying as that old bastard. But unlike him you’ve NEVER given me any reason not to kill you on sight, so you MIGHT want to be a bit more helpful.”

 

And suddenly Eric, the psycho-kid who had haunted his last few months, lost all his arrogance and sank down on a chair. “I don’t KNOW. I dropped in on him less than two hours hours ago to find him unconscious on his bed. I tried everything but I couldn’t wake him up and he reacted to nothing. When I saw him the day before yesterday, he was fine. We argued and he stormed off and now…” Eric shook his head unable to communicate the impossibility of the situation.

 

“Whatever else. Mac, we need to go there, get a good look at the old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK the "YOU!" would have been the cliffhanger at the end of part 1 of a two-parter :)


	10. What Now?

Seeing Methos lying there completely unresponsive like this was a shock to Duncan. After knowing the old man for a couple of years he had long since come to the conclusion that he would always be there. That Methos probably would be among the humans settling on other planets one day. That Methos somehow in some way wasn’t really part of the game. Even if he was thinking about “the Prize” and “there can be only one” it somehow never included the old man. It wasn’t that he necessarily believed Methos would be the one left standing if the Gathering ever happened, more as if he simply would skip the invitation and simply never appear, making the whole thing a useless farce.

 

He looked over the body critically, registering the dried sweat as well as other bodily fluids that hadn’t been taken care of. The small hole and the blood on the shirt were also pretty obvious. He turned towards Eric.

 

“That’s your work?”

 

Eric nodded. “It didn’t help though, whatever is wrong - a death didn’t repair it.”

 

“So it’s obviously not a physical problem.”

 

This earned Duncan a surprised look from Eric. He hadn’t thought of it like that but now it seemed obvious. Apparently the Highlander was smarter than he looked. Even though he felt like the words turned to ash in his mouth, Eric decided to tell him about the other stuff.

 

“I found his diary. I had hoped that I could find some clues in there but I can’t read it.” He held out the small volume to MacLeod.

 

The Highlander took it and after just a glance declared . “I don’t know Old Hebrew.”

 

“It’s a pity Darius is dead, he was a master at translating all the biblical languages,” Joe seemed at a loss what he might be able to do to help. Yet Methos was his friend too and it would take far more than temporary uselessness to keep him away.

 

“I’ll have to call a friend - oh stop fretting, Junior, she’s known your old man for longer than me, so it’s not as if I’m going around blurting out his secret to anyone.”

 

“Amanda?” Joe was surprised.

 

“Rebecca taught her to read and write. Her Old Hebrew is actually better than her Russian.” He turned to Eric. “Anything else?”

 

The younger man shook his head. “His mobile has a couple of contacts but I doubt there’s anyone there you two wouldn’t know about.” After all he had told MacLeod and Joe his real name, a name he had kept hidden from Eric for one and a half centuries.

 

Just to make sure Joe checked and began to mumble under his breath “That sneaky old son of a bitch.”

 

“What is it, Joe?” MacLeod had no real hope that it could help but he wanted to know anyway.

 

“Adam Pierson obviously stayed in contact with at least one of his old research buddies. I’m not his only Watcher contact.” 

 

“What about the Watchers though?” Eric interrupted. “if there’s anyone who knows if something like this has happened to someone else it’ll be the Watchers.”

 

“And suddenly the fact that we had nothing in our files about you isn’t surprising anymore. I wonder how many of you know about us without the organisation ever finding out.”

 

“Less than statistically likely, more than you think… at least that’s how he phrased it.” Eric’s gaze was full of unvoiced regrets as he looked at the unmoving body of his father.

 

MacLeod held little to no empathy for the man who had less than six hours ago tried to kill him. “I’m going to contact Amanda. It might take a while, and I need to go home for that. Can you stay with him, Joe?”

 

“I’ll stay with him,” Eric declared.

 

“Joe?” The kid might or might not be Methos’ “son” but Duncan would certainly not leave him alone with the helpless body of a friend.

 

“I can contact Amy to start cautiously putting out feelers among the researchers. Her contact to me is not widely known and she is well liked. She’ll probably have less trouble to get them to talk. So I can easily stay here, clean him up and see that he’s comfortable. He’s done so for me before after all.”


	11. Flashback - Family Life 1891

-1891-

 

When Eric entered the study obviously enraged, Methos looked up from his book. He raised an eyebrow and waited for the fuse to blow.

 

“I swear some people don’t have two brain cells to rub together.” Eric let himself drop into the armchair occupying a perverse amount of space in the small room.

 

Methos leaned back. It was pretty clear that he wouldn’t get any work done until Eric had finished his rant.

 

“I was meeting with Horace and Gerald because we wanted to go over Professor MacTaggert’s literature requirements for this semester. At least that’s what they told me. Only we spent four hours down at the pub instead of the library. And they told stupid jokes and blown-up stories about their experience. And I had to smile and act as if anything they might say about the bar wench’s bosom was extremely insightful and witty. If I thought posing as a twenty-two year old student would mean posing as a brainless imbecile... I mean I get that I can’t let people know my real age and that I should start out as young as I can get away with so we can use these names and papers as long as possible but if I need to pose as an idiot for half of my future life I’m not sure it’s worth it…”

 

Methos interrupted his ramblings by putting the book down hard, resulting in a loud thud. His voice however was perfectly calm and reasonable when he spoke.

 

“If we are talking about stupidity, scoffing at the gift of eternal youth and health because of one bad day seems to be quite high up on the list to me. Don’t you think you exaggerate a bit?”

 

“You weren’t there.” Eric was still not happy but had lowered his voice considerably. At that moment he reminded  his father so much of his sulking eight year old self that he couldn’t help but smile. Thirty years had gone by faster than he would have liked but on the other hand not that much had changed.

 

“They were idiots and drunk idiots at that - I get it. Every person is a fool at twenty-two.”

 

“I wasn’t.” When he saw his father’s expression of knowing amusement, he added. “I wasn’t - not like that.”

 

“Eric, I was there. And unlike you I wasn’t a young fool at the time, so I think I might remember better. Don’t get me wrong you were far from the worst I have ever encountered, but you _were_ young. I’m pretty sure that I was a stupid fool when I was twenty-two as well although my memories claim differently. Experience says my memories are tainted and I wasn’t better than anyone else at that age.”

 

The younger man relaxed slightly, letting his anger sink back. His father probably was right. He usually was. But he wouldn’t be him if he would let it all lie this easily.

 

“What do you do? How do you deal with this much stupidity?”

 

“Well, I have long since gotten used to being the smartest man in the room, and honestly that’s a good thing. Most people being fools makes life easier for you and me, and I’d rather be the smartest person than the dumbest. Also I stick to people I can relate to more easily, the studious ones instead of the students.”

 

“Didn’t you say all twenty-two olds were fools?”

 

“There are many different kinds of folly in the world. And while a poet might make a fool of himself at least he usually does so more quietly or at least in better style.” Methos couldn’t help but think of Byron who had held his attention until shortly before he’d met Joanna.

 

Eric grinned thinking of Oscar who they had met only two years ago and whose new novel promised to be as scandalous and brilliant as the man himself. “I think I see what you mean. People like Wilde are worth the occasional hustle of dealing with the less pleasant aspects of their personality.”

 

Methos would have liked to know what exactly happened to rile up Eric that much but he had learned that approaching the subject directly without giving him some time to cool off seldom worked with the boy, so he was satisfied with his successful distraction, making Eric remember Wilde had worked like a miracle.

*

 

When they sat down with Joanna for dinner, Eric had calmed almost completely, his earlier outburst forgotten. His mother had a soothing influence on the boy, Methos had never quite gotten the hang of. She had a similar effect on him and he often asked himself if her experience with patients had taught her this particular skill or if her natural talent just suited her chosen profession perfectly. So when she asked the two of them how their days had been, he actually stayed pretty calm. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but he wasn’t about to deny his mother’s innocent question.

 

“I don’t know what's more annoying: the fact that several people today pointed out what good and upright young men me and my cousin are for taking care of our elderly and lonesome aunt or that even more people tried to push me into the direction of the bar wench’s bed at the ‘Goat and Cabbage’.”

 

Joanna laughed. It was a warm and utterly natural sound. “Your elderly aunt, well if they knew what your ‘cousin’ and I get up to behind closed doors The scandal would be quite huge I guess.” She shook her head. “Eric you really need to stop caring about what others think of you,” catching Methos’ expression she added, “I know you disagree on that, Love, but while a good disguise and continued survival might need you to act according to expectations, you don’t need to really care.” She turned towards her son. “In your heart you know what’s right and what’s important. Your father and I made sure of that. Don’t let their wrong ideas get to you.”

 

Methos couldn’t resist a tease, feeling it would be safe with Joanna there. “So you don’t like the bar wench in the Cabbage?”

 

“She’s vulgar, smells of beer, and is as intelligent as the namesakes of her pub.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll find a pretty girl to court someday, even if it’s probably not in a pub.”

 

If he hadn’t waited for something just like that, Methos might have missed Eric’s mumbled “I highly doubt it.”

 

“Well, you’d be the first person I met who managed to spend eternity strictly on one side of the fence, so I would actually take a bet on that.”

 

Eric turned pale realising what his father had just said. “You know?”

 

“I’ve known you since you were five. I would have needed to be blind not to notice. I agree though that it’s best to be discreet with the current state of affairs and the laws getting more restrictive. But I’m sure better times will come around eventually.”

***


	12. Waiting

“So what kind of father is the old man?”  Joe tried his best to make the Immortal feel at ease. He didn’t know the man except for Duncan’s tales and a nervous or stressed man with the training to kill another human being wasn’t someone he wanted to be around. Also the opportunity to learn something about the elusive bastard he thought of as a friend was just too good to be passed.

 

“A smug one, sometimes intolerably so.” Eric at down looking at Methos’ unconscious form a worried look on his face. His voice turned considerably softer as he spoke on. “He was always indefinitely patient when teaching me. Rhys Barrows was a friendly, gentle young scholar who loved his wife and son and maybe indulged them a bit too much. He changed when we switched names as I grew up, Rhys became Martin the journalist, Martin turned into Paul the student of languages and so on. They were all different enough, some more openly sarcastic, some more willing to convey to social norms, some more willing to flirt, subtle differences, just enough to help him to keep his identities separate, to avoid screwing up. He taught me a lot about constructing a persona, about acting.”

 

“And about using it to survive, I guess - sounds a lot like the old weasel.”

 

Eric looked at him thoughtfully. The Watcher’s voice held a certain warmth but maybe there was also a small hidden core of resentment. From everything he’d seen he was pretty sure that his father counted Joe among his friends. “Everything is about survival with him. At least that’s what he always claims. No use for idealism, patriotism, revenge - those are all just things that will get you killed in the end.”

 

Joe leaned back studying the young looking immortal. “You don’t agree?”

 

Eric smiled. “I’m a huge disappointment to my father in that regard. I believe there are things worth dying for. I don’t go out of my way searching for danger but… well…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged. “Damn - suddenly I wish I had tried for medicine, then maybe I could do something now.”

 

“Like Mac said, this can’t possibly be physical so I doubt it would help much.”

 

With the mentioning of MacLeod Eric’s jaw clenched and he withdrew into himself continuing to silently stare at his father’s unconscious body.


	13. Flashback - Father And Son

1901

Methos was standing over the freshly dug grave. The stone marker only held the single word ‘Joanna’. Standing over the grave of a loved one never was easy and despite the fact that he and Joanna had shared almost 5 decades, it seemed far too short a period of time. His instincts, his experience all told him to run, start anew, burn all the bridges and to go and completely dug himself into a new life and personality. In a few years or decades he would be able to remember Joanna fondly and with far less pain. But this road was mostly closed to him this time,

 

Eric was standing next to him crying at his mother’s grave. The boy was more than old enough to stand on his own two feet and he had taught him more and better than most young Immortals. He had no obligation to stay with him apart from his promise to Joanna of course. They had travelled separately on a lot of occasions over the last few decades. Eric wasn’t a child and Methos knew the value of independence. But they had always made plans how and when to meet again. A part of Methos expected that that arrangement would come to an end once Joanna was gone but right here, right now he felt that he should be here for Eric, help him through the loss - even if it meant a more difficult time for himself.

*

1908

 

“I think I might have gotten us unwanted attention, Father.” Eric looked tense and a bit pale as he sat down next to him.

 

Methos’ eyes immediately checked the entrance to the room but no immediate threat was bursting through the door. A public place like this restaurant was probably a relatively safe space, so he stayed seated for the moment and looked at his son. “What happened?”

 

“I was in a pub downtown. There was a brawl.”

 

“And you got involved.” It wasn’t as much of a question as it was a reprimand.

 

“I  _ tried _ to get out quickly and quietly but some asshole poked a knife in me. In the heat of the moment I just pulled it out and took care of the man. But then I noticed someone had seen how my wound closed up.”

 

A silent curse came over Methos lips. “Any chance they will be ignored as a hysteric drunk?”

 

“By most people yes. But the bar wench bore the sign of a Watcher.”

 

For a moment anger flared up in the old man’s eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had come. There was still an undeniable annoyance in his voice when he spoke. “Well, didn’t you always want to visit China? It seems like a good time for a change of scenery.” He stood up wanting to hurry with their travel arrangements and departure. Eric followed his suit. “And on the long and hopefully boring train ride you can tell me the fascinating story on why you went to visit an establishment where a Watcher worked.”


	14. Enter Amanda

Eric was startled awake by the buzz of one or more Immortals getting close. After some hours he had fallen asleep at his father’s bedside due to sheer exhaustion. Coming to he found himself cold and miserable although his clothes had mostly dried. His hand automatically went for his sword but that was still in the possession of the older mortal Joe. Eric made sure that he had a good grip on his small emergency pistol just in case. Unlike his father he didn’t necessarily avoid all fights but he certainly would let anyone attack the old man while he was so completely helpless just because he was without his sword.

 

Joe noticed that Eric had woken and tensed in a very familiar way so he wasn’t really surprised when there was a knock and he quickly moved to let MacLeod back in.

 

The first person to enter was a woman with very short and very bright red hair. Joe stepped aside to let her in and she was followed immediately by the Highlander, so Eric guessed she was the woman who would be able to read his father’s diary. She more or less ignored Joe and Eric as she hurried over to the bed.

 

“Oh no, you stupid old man. What have you done this time?” She checked his pulse and eyes maybe because she couldn’t fully believe what MacLeod had told her. Her eyes showed tears welling up and Eric couldn’t help but wonder what this woman’s relationship to his father was. She turned towards him her face becoming a lot more business like. “So you’re his son?”

 

“I’m Eric.” He acknowledged

 

She studied him for a moment. If she reached any conclusion, she didn’t show what it was, instead she turned towards Joe. “Where is the diary?” She must have noticed Eric’s discomfort as she took and opened it because she turned once more towards him. There was at least some empathy in her voice. “I know this probably feels like an intrusion, but it  _ was _ your idea that we might get some hint about what the hell has happened to him. And as much as he values his privacy, he values his life more.”

 

“Can you read it?” MacLeod asked from the side as the woman started studying the journal with a furrowed brow.

 

“As long as none of you keeps interrupting. He has a terrible scrawl. One of those bad habits you pick up after getting used to writing for a century or two - but I’ll manage. Now shush.”

 


	15. Diaries I

_ Being back in Seacouver might have been a stupid choice but it still feels good. As long as no Watcher officially finds out that Adam Pierson wasn’t a Watcher turned Immortal but the other way ‘round I should be OK. It has been a few years, I never had many mortal friends around here and Seacouver is big enough of a city that I should be able to pull Garrett Myles off. It’s good to see Joe again. He probably knows more about me than anyone else currently alive yet like Darius he is too wise to judge. Now if just those damn headaches would go away. _

_ * _

 

_ Met Mac tonight at the bar. I wasn’t sure how it would be to see him again but he’s still his old doggy-loyal self. He might have never fully forgiven me but he can’t help himself, he’s nevertheless obviously relieved to see that my head is still attached to my body. We shared a drink and caught up. Well he told me about what he’s been up to in excruciating detail. I wasn’t in the mood to make up something suitingly amusing. _

_ * _

 

_ I spent a whole day without a headache. It’s been so long I can’t even remember when was the last time that happened. I guess MacLeod’s damn whiskey must have been really good. _

_ * _

_ * _

_ The headaches are coming and going. At least they aren’t permanent anymore. I wish Sean Burns was still alive - or better Darius - I can’t seem to figure out what causes them besides that stress seems to make them worse. _

_ * _

_ * _

_ * _

_ Eric turned up. _

_ * _

_ My son makes an appearance. He’s not angry about our last argument anymore. Instead he has decided to kill one of a very small number of people I trust with my life. This time the headaches don’t come as a surprise. _

_ * _

_ Maybe I can talk with Eric? Mac and him are both stubborn idiots but I think I might have a chance to get the boy to stop. I really hope it’ll work. _

_ * _

_ I wonder if putting a knife through Eric’s heart and flying him out into the middle of nowhere as a body before waking him up will work? _

_ Or maybe a thorough spanking? _

_ Damn my head is killing me. _

_ * _

_ I dreamed of Kronos.  _

_ If Mac kills Eric I will take his damn head… _

_ * _

_ Now there are nightmares in addition to the headaches. Mac had a sword at my throat tonight, probably because Eric is working on driving him insane as well. The only difference being that he does it to the Scot on purpose. I can’t watch this anymore I will try to talk with Eric one more time. _

_ * _


	16. Waiting cont'd

While Amanda sat in the corner working her way through Methos’ almost illegible scribblings Joe started the coffee maker and searched for something edible. Normally MacLeod would have helped his friend in a heartbeat, so his mortal friend wouldn’t have to walk around on his prosthetics any longer than necessary, But the Scot didn’t even take notice. He stood there keeping a suspicious eye on Eric instead. What took Joe by surprise was the young looking man stepping in and lending him a hand.

 

“He usually keeps a secret stash of snacks hidden somewhere. I’m not sure we’ll find anything qualifying as healthy though.” He started rummaging through his father’s kitchen cabinets with an ease of familiarity.

 

Joe snorted. “I’d be grateful for anything that isn’t liquid at this point.”

 

When their search produced nothing but a bag of chips, two different packets of cookies, and a few chocolate bars, Joe turned around. “Mac, can you do a grocery run? I’m afraid we might be stuck for a while and we or rather I need to eat something to stay alive.”

 

“I won’t leave.”

 

Eric turned towards him with barely contained anger. “You left me with him for hours already. I will hardly hurt your friend now.”

 

“Why don’t YOU go this time?” MacLeod suggested.

 

“Because I know none of you guys from Adam. Because my father lies absolutely helpless over there in his bed. Because I don’t TRUST you.”

 

MacLeod’s snarl was more than answer enough. Before he could open his mouth to say anything Joe interrupted.

 

“He’s right, Mac. We already stayed here for hours and this time Amanda will be able to intervene as well if it becomes necessary. We outnumber the kid 3 to 1. So since she’s busy reading it’s either you or me, bud.” He pointedly raised his crutch and then looked at his friend.

 

For a moment it seemed as if MacLeod wanted to protest anyway but then he left without any further comment.


	17. Diary II

_ The last time I saw Eric he called me a spineless bastard. I spent weeks trying to find him after he ran off but then things got too tense and I had no choice but to leave. _

 

_ Maybe that just proved him right. _

 

_ He used to look up to me.  _

 

_ Or maybe he just looked up to Joanna’s husband Rhys whatever name he wore at the time. And when he caught too many glimpses of the real me, he lost any respect, he once had. Maybe once he got older, he instinctively felt that I was holding back too many secrets and therefore despised me. _

 

_ His reaction when we met was restrained. He said he wasn’t angry anymore - not about what happened back then. He was of course angry about something else. Eric always seems to be angry. Or at least terribly passionate about… something. _

 

_ I remember being like that. So terribly passionate. So terribly alive. _

 

_ I wish I could explain to Eric why I can’t be like that anymore. Why I’m worried when I see him like that. For his surroundings, for myself, for him. _

 

_ But I can’t. _

 

_ I can just try and be there for him when he crashes and in the meantime keep the damage under control. Joanna taught him care and empathy and instilled it so deeply in him that I have to trust he will never make the mistakes others have made. And I did my best to teach him so I know he’s no fool either. _

 

_ Let’s hope it’s enough. _

_ * _


	18. Who's the  psychopath?

Amanda had put the diary down after several hours trying to find older entries mentioning the headaches. Immortals didn’t get those unless it was after an especially taxing quickening yet in his recent entries Methos mentioned them as if they were a regular occurrence. As far as she could tell that went back farther than his latest journal. Currently the boy was searching for the older journals while she was taking a much needed break.

 

“OK I get that the kid gets under your skin Duncan but why don’t you trust him with this? I highly doubt that he would do anything to endanger his father.”

 

MacLeod took a deep breath before answering. Although he and Amanda weren’t technically a couple at the moment, she was still one of his oldest and dearest friends and he should try to not bite her head off. “I still can hardly believe that he actually IS Methos’ son. It seems absurd when I try to picture him with an actual child. But I guess the journals prove his story. But no matter the relationship. I don’t trust murderous psychopaths.”

 

“Look who’s talking.” Eric stepped into the living room with two books in his hand.

 

Duncan’s angry snarl would have been accompanied by a physical attack if Amanda’s hand hadn’t had held him back.

 

“How many heads did you take in your first century?” Eric asked.

 

Macleod’s eyes narrowed but he took a moment to consider the question seriously before answering. “I can’t say for sure but around three dozen - times were quieter back then.”

 

Eric slightly shook his head. “In my whole life I’ve taken four. - So go on and tell me how I am the psychopath.”

 

“What? That can’t be true.”

 

“How did you think I kept from being discovered by the Watchers? If I kept killing other Immortals every other week, one of their Watchers WOULD have managed to follow me eventually, don’t you think?” Taking a perverse pride in seeing the shock in the Scot’s eyes, he decided to go a step further. “And just so you know: after meeting me, Thomas took exactly one head. So congratulations on taking his head when he wasn’t searching for any trouble,  _ Highlander _ .” He put the two journals into Amanda’s hands. “These were the only ones I could find. I guess the older ones are somewhere in storage. He has stacks of books and journals hidden away all over the world like a bibliophile squirrel but I only know a few of those.”

 

“Thanks I’ll take a look immediately.” Amanada’s friendly smile turned into a frown as she opened the first of the two leather-bound books. “Damn that old scoundrel.”

 

“What?” Duncan wanted to know.

 

“This one is in… Babylonian… I think. I’m really rusty but I should be able to actually work it out.” She opened the last one and sighed in relief. “This one is actually Old English - you should be able to work your way through that.”

 

“That’s a bit before my time, Amanda.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You studied that for a while though, didn’t you? I remember you writing me a love poem in Old English once to get me into bed - it had terrible metre but I appreciated the effort. I’m almost as much out of practice as you so if your Babylonian is better we can switch but otherwise we will be much faster if each of one takes one journal.”


	19. Joe and Eric

After staring at his father’s unconscious form for hours with nothing he could do but cleaning away the sweat and making him swallow small amounts of liquid, Eric was losing what little patience he had. He began pacing the small bedroom wishing there was anything he could do.

 

“Beer - he would like that. Although he would probably complain that it goes stale when you keep it open this long.” Joe entered and sat down on the only chair. He was at least as frustrated with his inability to do something as the young immortal was.

 

“Probably, he’s really good at complaining.” Eric tried to smile but the thought of his father’s grumbling about the most inconsequential things was a bit too much. He swallowed in an attempt to get rid of the dry lump in his throat and turned away because he didn’t want the Watcher to see him tearing up.

 

The mortal did recognize what happened but he chatted on as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. “I guess it’s the best option as long as we can’t get him on an IV. Liquids and good nutritional values. It keeps the stress on his body low.”

 

Feeling the man’s sympathy, Eric turned towards Joe. “I can’t lose him. Not like this. I just found him again after three decades and we haven’t done much but argue. I need him to get through this. I need to…”

 

“Apologize? Tell him you love him?”

 

Eric just nodded.

 

“He knows.”

 

“How can you be so certain? What do you know about our relation?”

 

“I never knew of your existence until you came into the bar. But I know the old man. And he once told me that kids always come back and he knew that because he was very old and very wise. Even if he was talking about someone else at that time, he knows you care.”

 

Eric nodded. “Thanks.”

 

“Now I’m certain that Amanda and Mac will find something that will give us a hint in there.”

 

“But we don’t know how fast the cure - if they find it - will work.” Eric bit his lip. “We need to make plans how to keep him safe for however long it takes. Holy ground would be a good first step.”

 

Joe snorted. “Now that’s the kind of pragmatism I’d expect from Methos’ kid. Look if push come to shove I’m sure I can recruit a couple of Watchers to keep a vigilant eye on Adam Pierson; your father had quite a few friends among our ranks before he got outed.”

 

“I noticed the tattoo. He posed as a Watcher?”

 

“Yup - as a researcher. On the Methos chronicles no less tried to keep us from actually getting too close on his tail. He must have started Adam shortly after you two parted ways... Oh God - it makes perfect sense. He kept an eye out for you in the best way he could. If you had crossed ways with a Watcher he would have found out and he could have found you. Sneaky old bastard. He used us not only to hide himself but to search for you as well.”

 

“The only flaw in his plan was, he taught me to hide from you guys too well. He didn’t trust your organization.”

 

“He never trusted anybody as far as I know. He learned to distrust some people less than others over the years, but actually a hundred percent trust someone? He was far too secretive for that. The Watchers still think of him as good old Adam Pierson who had the misfortune to one day die in a car accident and finding out he was immortal. He even got around getting his own field agent by sending in reports on himself by mail. I read some of them, they are quite detailed, vastly amusing, and absolutely fabricated but so far no one has caught him.”

 

“OK so if things take too long Adam Pierson’s body will be placed in some abbey under the guard of some watchers, hooked up to an IV. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”


	20. An Idea

 

Amanda looked up from the pages she was reading. The room was well lit and and they left in enough fresh air through the open window. Still Methos’ scrawl was enough to cause anyone headaches.

 

“Who is Kronos, Duncan?”

 

The Scot looked up from his own leather bound book. “Why are you asking?”

 

“The name turned up once or twice when he mentions nightmares accompanying his headaches.”

 

“Kronos was someone Methos knew from ages ago. He was a monster and I took his head sometime in the 90s. It was a pretty bad experience all around. I’m not surprised that guy caused anyone nightmares.”

 

“Over a decade later? That must have been impressive.”

 

When Duncan wanted to answer Joe and Eric entered and he stopped himself immediately.

 

“Have you found out something?” 

 

Amanda sighed. “As far as we can tell the headaches weren’t really a problem when he was still going by Adam. They started sometime during the years neither of us has seen him and were gradually getting worse. Or maybe that’s when he first started registering them? He seems to be unsure about that himself. So far we haven’t found anything that could have been the source. He mentions no fight, no quickening he took during that time.”

 

“That doesn’t say much. He doesn’t always record fights.”

 

“And how would you know? He never took a head during your years together. He once told me it had been 200 years since his last fight.”

 

“And he told me that he used his journal to record very specific, personal things. He would only mention a fight if it held some deeper personal meaning for him. If he just took some head to defend himself, I doubt he would put it in writing.”

 

“So as far as we know he might have fought during the last couple of years,” Amanda chimed in. “Our best theory seems to be that he took some kind of bad quickening and now succumbed to it.”

 

“I’ve never heard of a quickening doing something like this.” Joe looked at his immortal friends with worry. “Do you think he might be different when he wakes up?”

 

“Like Darius?”

 

“Or like me when I…” Duncan’s voice trailed off.

 

“Did you just have an idea, Mac?” Joe recognized a certain spark in his friend’s face.

 

“Maybe… I’m not sure” Duncan looked at Eric.

 

“Oh for Christ’s sake MacLeod - if you have an idea then spit it out. Look I know you don’t trust me and I can hardly blame you. But if you bring him back I swear here and now that you can do with me whatever you want afterwards. Joe already has my sword. I won’t run away. I won’t be able to fight you. If you manage to bring him back, you can have my head. But stop this stupid paranoia now. It helps nobody.”

 

“There’s a place we might go… A sacred place, a place of healing…”

 

Joe suddenly understood. “I’ll contact Amy, so she can help us arrange the flight through the Watchers.”

 

“Where are we going?” Eric demanded to know.

 

“Paris - at first. We will need to drive a bit after that but it’s not that far.”


	21. The Journey

With all the arrangements they needed to get an unconscious man over the Atlantic it took them about three days before they finally drove out of Paris in a rented minivan. There still was little to no change in Methos. They had organized some IV packets, at least with the old man they needn’t worry about infections or doing any damage. So even without a nurse it was the easiest way to keep him hydrated.

 

During the whole time MacLeod and Eric had avoided each other as best as they could with Joe and Amanda trying their best to keep the peace.

 

“So where exactly are we going? What’s this about the ‘healing place’?”

 

Duncan kept his eyes firmly on the road so it fell to Joe to answer as best as he could. “Have you ever heard of Darius?”

 

Eric’s face went sad. “The priest? Yes, father told me about him. He said that if I ever get into any trouble I wouldn’t be able to deal with and I couldn’t reach him, I should go to Paris, to the church on Rue St. Jacques. - I went there a few years back, hoping he might have a way to contact my father I wasn’t aware of but a young priest told me that Father Darius had been killed.”

 

“It was a sad day for all of us.” Amanda hadn’t been too close to Darius but he had been a renowned figure in the community for a reason.

 

“Do you know his history though? How he ended up in that church?”

 

“He used to be a warlord but changed his ways. He found peace. Living for centuries it happens. People change.”

 

Of course Methos wouldn’t go over the details but focus on that aspect. Joe understood perfectly and it was true in general but right now he wanted to focus on Darius’ specific circumstances. “While I would never dispute that, with Darius things were a bit different. He was in Paris, leading an army, intend of plundering and burning his way through France until he reached the ocean, He ran into a hermit. A holy man who happened to be immortal. He refused to join Darius in his conquest and he refused to fight, so Darius took his head. Our books about that time are limited but legends say that the quickening fell him then and there and he fell into a sleep of several days. When he came to he looked at his men and sent them home. He refused to fight from that day on. He found himself a small church where he took residence and served others from that day on for the rest of his life. As far as we could piece together the quickening of the holy man simply was too much for him, was stronger than his own and basically he was overwhelmed by it.”

 

“The soul of a dead man taking over his murderer? That sounds like wishful thinking to me.” Eric couldn’t believe what he heard.

 

“I don’t know about souls, kid. But I know the quickening holds the energy of an Immortal. That’s what makes you stronger if you take more heads. I also know you guys get small glimpses and flashbacks of your slain opponent’s life with the quickening, so something definitely gets passed on. And sometimes those bits can be strong enough to change the winner. Darius was still Darius and not the man whose life he took. But he was a profoundly changed Darius. The holy man was powerful enough in some way to change Darius even from beyond the grave.”

 

“But you said Darius went into that sleep directly after taking the quickening.” Eric’s eyes went to his father’s body. “He hasn’t had a fight for a couple of months at least. A duel in Seacouver wouldn’t have escaped you.”

 

“That’s not… Yeah you’re right. But that’s not what I meant. What happened to Darius was the rare example of a ‘light’ quickening, I don’t know if there has ever been another recorded example. But there have been a few cases of ‘dark’ ones over the years,” Joe was very aware that Amanda was listening as attentively as Eric, while MacLeod feigned disinterest. “Some years ago MacLeod fell victim to a dark quickening. He fought as hard as he could but he grew erratic, aggressive…”

 

“I killed friends.” Mac stated matter-of-factly, his eyes still on the road.

 

“I wonder how people could tell the difference,” Eric muttered and earned himself some disapproving looks from both Joe and Amanda.

 

“Your father came when I called him. He had to leave his girlfriend basically on her deathbed but he came because MacLeod is his friend.”

 

“Methos somehow managed to talk me into coming with him. He dragged my sorry ass to the place we’re going to now. It was still a hard fight but with the power of that holy well and Methos’ help, I found back to myself. I overcame the darkness inside myself.”

 

“And you hope that place will be able to help him.”

 

“If not, I’m all out of ideas. There aren’t that many millennia old Immortals out there I could ask for their wisdom and expertise. And I owe the old man.”


	22. The Well

 

Eric watched carefully as MacLeod took off most of his clothes as well as undressing his father up to his boxers before carefully carrying the unconscious form into the water. Although MacLeod would have preferred to go into the cave alone, he had accepted that Eric wouldn’t leave his father’s side - as long as Joe and Amanda were there as well making sure he wouldn’t interfere with whatever would happen.

***

  
  


_ The desert sun was burning hot and unforgiving down on his head. Duncan felt as if he hadn’t had something to drink for at least two days. If he hadn’t been immortal he would have been delirious by now for sure but the state wasn’t that far off right now anyway. He had no memory how and when he had come here and the only thing he was sure of was a vague sense of self. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and that was the only thing in this hot and unforgiving universe that he knew. _

 

_ He stumbled forward although he feared that it would make no difference in the end. But stopping would mean giving up and even in his current state he was far too stubborn to do that. _

 

_ He had no idea how long he had been stumbling forward when he heard the sound of hooves coming closer. He was still making up his mind whether he was hallucinating or not when four horses surrounded him. The leader of the riders took off his mask and grinned at him. For a small moment Duncan saw the desert clad rider superimposed by the image of the same man in a black Stetson, wearing a shirt and spurs on his boots. The heat was finally getting to him. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness were the words: _

 

_ “Well look what we found here, brothers.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK Warning - The vision chapters in the well won't be pretty. It's not going to get too graphic, but it's at the upper level of what Highlander did with violence onscreen. I hope I got the rating right with the 'teen' tag


	23. Vision I

When Duncan came to his senses he had been stripped naked and bound. Judging by his headache they had simply let him die from the heat and dehydration instead of giving him something to drink. He tried to look around but his bonds made it impossible for him to move all that much. He could make out two vague silhouettes in the background, a man who looked vaguely familiar with terrible blue makeup stood just at the edge of his field of vision, and then the leader leaned in with the most vicious grin MacLeod had ever seen in his life.

 

“Good Morning Sleepyhead.”

 

MacLeod furrowed his brow, he knew this man - this monster.  “Koren”

 

This earned him the back of an armor clad hand in the face. He could taste the blood in his mouth and he wasn’t sure but one of his teeth might have come loose.

 

“My name is Kronos you imbecile.* He turned towards the others, his expression turning from anger to cold command. “Come here brother.”

 

The man with the blue makeup came closer. His face didn’t betray anything but MacLeod had the vague sense that he wasn’t too happy with the situation. Like Koren/Kronos he looked familiar but no name came to his mind.

 

“See brother you wished for some form of release, didn’t you? Now the gods obviously heard your prayers. This man will provide us with some much needed amusement.” Kronos passed a primitive knife with a ragged edge to his “brother”, handle forward. He then nodded encouragingly towards MacLeod.

*


	24. Vision II

He’d already been exhausted when they found him and even an immortal body could only take that much. Maybe the blue man was overly eager. Maybe he was clumsy. Whatever the reason MacLeod was grateful that he passed out relatively fast.

 

When he came to he felt feverish. His arms hurt and although he couldn’t move enough to actually take a look, he was sure that a good chunk of muscle from his left biceps was missing. Kronos was nowhere in sight but he could hear the breath of at least one man. The blue man leaned into his field of vision.

 

“Stupid idiot,” he spit angrily. “Why would you come here? The only thing for you here is death, MacLeod.”

 

Why was the blue man angry with him? MacLeod furrowed his brow. He tried to think but the pain and the fever didn’t make things easier. Blueman had called him by his name. Had he told them his name? No, he was pretty sure he hadn’t, so Blueman knew him. How? He looked familiar but MacLeod couldn’t remember anyone who would do to him what they had done, what they were doing to him.

 

“Who?”

 

“Look who’s awake again.” Kronos sounded happy, almost giddy with excitement. “You wouldn’t start the fun without me, brother?” He teased.

 

Blueman’s expression changed as he turned towards the other man. All traces of anger were carefully hidden away and he looked neutral, maybe vaguely amused, nothing more. “Never, brother.”

 

Without seeing anything outside of his narrow field of vision, MacLeod was dependent on sounds and smells mostly. He heard the clang of metal on metal, he could smell a fire burning and feel the heat building up. He had seen enough things in his long life to have a pretty good idea what these men had in stock for him next but not being able to see, to know for sure, to mentally steel himself for what was sure to come made things far worse. While he waited many pictures flashed before his inner eye each one worse than the ones before.

 

He could hear one of them sitting down, settling into something of a comfortable position while waiting. Then he heard Blueman’s bored voice. 

 

“I highly doubt that this will get you closer to your goal, Kronos.”

 

An angry snarl and the sound of flesh on flesh followed. “Don’t assume you know all my goals, brother. There was a time when you understood me better than anyone but you gave that up.” MacLeod didn’t think he’d ever heard that much bitterness in a voice. There was a short pause before Kronos continued, seemingly calmer. “I have more than one goal and sometimes a job well done is gratification in and of itself.”

 

The only warning MacLeod got was the soft sound of feet on furs then the heat and the pain hit him. For a moment he wasn’t even sure where Kronos had put the red hot metal, then his senses screamed that it was his right hip. Just before the pain became unbearable, Kronos took the metal away. The smell of cooked human flesh filled his nostrils. If his stomach had held anything he surely would have vomited. The way things were he only managed a dry retch. 

 

The glowing hot metal moved into his field of vision. He could see that it was a sword and although he wasn’t sure he thought he saw pieces of his skin still clinging to it.

 

“Now Highlander, where next? It’s your choice.”

 

MacLeod didn’t waste his breath with an answer. He was only an extra in this little drama, Kronos was playing out and nothing he could say would make any difference.

 

“I could blind you… or maybe that open arm of yours…”

 

When the sword was pressed against the soles of his feet MacLeod couldn’t help himself, he let out a bloodcurdling scream.


	25. Vision III - First Night

 

When he came to this time it was because of the freezing cold of the desert night. He had no idea how long he’d been out but he knew he needed to conserve his strength. He tried to keep his breath even and calm so his captors wouldn’t know he was conscious. He simply wasn’t ready to face them once again.

 

The night was deadly still and after a while, when he had calmed himself enough to not be deafened by the beating of his own heart, he could make out quiet voices nearby. Judging by the sound Kronos and Blueman were just a few feet away from where he lay bound in the open, but inside of a comfortable tent. It was hard to make out all the words but MacLeod caught at least some of their conversation.

 

“Kronos … please … really …”

 

“... need this … owe me that …”

 

Both men’s breathing was heavy making it even harder to make out what they were saying. Blueman gasped out in pain.

 

“... sorry...”

 

Kronos grunted “Stop grovelling.” The command once again accompanied by the sound of a harsh slap. “... through … everything … alright.”

 

For a while heavy breathing and grunts were all MacLeod could make out until at last Kronos at least seemed to find release. He was already slipping back into unconsciousness when he heard muffled crying coming from the tent. In his half dream state it almost seemed as if it was Kronos who cried and Blueman’s voice soothing him.

 

“...love…”


	26. Vision IV - In Remembrance of Kaspian

Everything in the desert camp seemed unreal and oftentimes MacLeod couldn’t tell if he was awake or delirious. He forgot everything and only remembered his own name because Kronos called him by it regularly, always with venom in his voice.

 

Kronos was quite imaginative when it came to things he could do to him. From washing out his wounds with camel piss to breaking bones MacLeod didn’t even know he had. But the knives seemed to be his favourite.

 

MacLeod watched in horror as Kronos studied the piece of flesh he had just cut out of MacLeod intensely. A slow smile blossomed on his face and he put the bit of muscle into his mouth, chewing and obviously savouring the experience.

 

The voice of Blueman cut him out of his horror. It was carefully neutral but after the things he had overheard during the nights MacLeod was sure there was disgust hidden underneath.

 

“Aren’t you falling out of your role, Kronos? This should be his part.” The vague gesture seemed to indicate one of the two silhouettes almost always present in the background yet never speaking, never taking action.

 

“You know I never understood his fascination with human meat. But now that it’s necessary I find I do enjoy the experience.” Kronos leaned over and kissed Blueman violently, invading the other man’s mouth with his tongue, while MacLeod’s blood was still smeared on his lips.


	27. Vision V - Time Goes On

Days turned into weeks and MacLeod grew weaker and weaker. Although he never saw Kronos and Blueman eat or drink, never heard anyone leave or arrive at the camp they seemed to manage quite fine. While Blueman grew a bit quieter and paler as time went on, Kronos seemed to flourish and grow stronger each and every passing day.

 

There were times when Kronos did nothing but cause him pain, by burning him, flogging him, or by letting him witness how he treated his ‘brother’. When he first had come here MacLeod had thought them both his captors but now he realized that Blueman was almost as much of a captive as he himself. And because his basic core was still untouched, he cared. Seeing this stranger suffer was almost as bad - at times worse - than his own pain.

 

At other times Kronos was obviously driven by some greater need, by some kind of goal beyond the simple wish to inflict damage on a man he clearly hated.  At such times it was always and inevitably the knives most often used by Kronos, rarely by Blueman.

 

MacLeod had no idea what he was searching for but he clearly followed some pattern only he could really see, cutting bits and pieces from MacLeod’s living, breathing body. Some of these pieces were smaller, some bigger. And Kronos consumed them all.

 

These sessions were less painful than the aimless ones and yet they left MacLeod exhausted in a way, he wouldn’t have thought possible. Kronos inevitable was riding on a high whenever he had eaten one of the bits and mostly celebrated by dragging Blueman into their shared tent.


	28. Vision VI - Whispers In The Night

“MacLeod.” The voice was barely a whisper.

 

He managed a quiet grunt to acknowledge Blueman’s presence. He was deadly afraid of waking Kronos currently snoring happily just a few feet away.

 

“You stupid, stupid fool. We don’t have much time left.”

 

“I… don’t…” His voice croaked and he could barely hold back a coughing fit. A skin with sweet wine held to his lips brought him the first sense of relief he’d felt since he came here. “Thank you.”

 

Blueman’s eyes widened at his words.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“Haven’t you noticed? The wounds from where he cuts you don’t heal; what he eats, doesn’t grow back.”

 

“But…” How was that possible? He was immortal. The wounds were minor, surely it would just take time.

 

“This isn’t REAL, Highlander. Kronos is doing something to you - to us - and he grows stronger through it.”

 

Whatever else Blueman had wanted to tell him was lost for the moment when Kronos stirred in his sleep and he slipped back into the tent before his absence would be noticed.


	29. Vision VII - A Break

This wasn’t real.

 

That’s what Blueman had said and that’s what MacLeod clung to vigorously. At first it seemed like a form of denial, a way that would lose him his sanity even faster while he desperately tried to hold onto it. But then he started to notice things. Things that should have been obvious. Since he’d been there he had eaten nothing. Even with his immortal constitution he should have died a couple of times from that alone. The small mouthful of wine was the only liquid he had had since coming to the camp as well. And although his field of vision was limited he could have sworn he’d never seen Kronos - or Blueman for that matter - consume anything that wasn’t pieces of himself.

 

Then there was the time. Either the sun was burning from straight above or it was the cold of the middle of the night. He couldn’t remember a single sunrise or sunset, no gentle twilight to grant him temporary relief of the extreme temperatures.

 

Concentrating and all the weird details telling himself that all this was somehow not real, couldn’t be real, helped.

 

When Kronos drove thorns under his fingernails, when he started peeling MacLeod’s skin away, when he cut off half of his ear, the Highlander managed to keep himself apart from what was happening to his body keeping what little he had left of his sanity.

 

His body though was failing him more and more. Not only didn’t the pieces of flesh Kronos ate not grow back but also his other wounds - shallow cuts, broken bones, burns - they all took longer and longer to heal.

 

“This is getting frustrating - he hardly screams anymore.”

 

“Kronos, you are getting too impatient. And you are risking everything.”

 

“What would YOU know about it? This is all my plan and I did fine so far on my own.”

 

“Of course” Blueman sounded so bored and superior that MacLeod was surprised he didn’t provoke another burst of violence. “Kronos you have goals, you have  _ visions _ . When it comes to achieving those goals…” The sentence trailed off and MacLeod could practically hear Blueman’s shrug.

 

“Oh you are good with plans, I grant you that. But tell me, why should I  _ trust _ you, brother?”

 

“Because who else could you trust, Kronos? And how could you afford not to really? I have no idea what your endgame is. But I can tell that your impatience is threatening your success. MacLeod is getting too weak. He hardly reacts to your little games anymore. If you’re not careful you might kill him before you got everything you need from him.”

 

“And what would you do now in my stead, brother?”

 

“Give him a break, let him get strong enough to survive whatever you need him for until the end.”

 

“Well if it’s what you would do, I can hardly argue, can I? And in the meantime…  _ we _ can have a bit of fun and games.”


	30. Vision VIII - A Name

This wasn’t real.

 

That’s what MacLeod had to cling to when he heard the screams from the tent at night.

 

Whenever Kronos was finished with his little games, Blueman snuck out of the tent to look after MacLeod for a while, tending his wounds, sharing sweet wine with him.

 

At first he was too weak to talk but after the second or third time, he began to feel better, a tiny bit stronger.

 

“You shouldn’t…” as grateful as he was, he couldn’t ask Blueman to go through what he did on his behalf.

 

Blueman took a look at MacLeod and shook his head. “Of all the ungrateful fools… Listen you need to conserve your strength. Let Kronos be my worry for now. As long as I put in a good show, I should be able to keep him amused easily. I still haven’t figured out what exactly is going on. But whatever it is Duncan, I will need your help.”

 

He gasped. Duncan. He had forgotten that bit. He wasn’t just MacLeod. He was Duncan MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. And with that certainty, he felt some strength returning to him that had nothing to do with the wine or the rest Blueman provided him with. No not ‘Blueman’. He looked at the face before him. It was familiar. He KNEW that face only without the paint and without the long hair. For just a moment he could see the man before him all cleaned up, with short hair and wearing loose, comfortable, ‘modern’ clothes. A name sprung to mind, or rather several. All connected to the face before him. ‘Adam’ was there prominently. ‘Eric’ for some reason, but those weren’t quite right…

 

“Methos.”


	31. Vision IX - Slowly Getting Better

Things began to change. As the ‘days’ went on, Duncan grew stronger and the longer Methos managed to keep Kronos away from him, the more memories came back. Faces, names, little bits and pieces. He didn’t know what happened to Richie, Tessa, Connor, Amanda, Joe, Fitz, Darius and all the others. But he knew what they had been to him. What they maybe still were. If this place wasn’t real, then maybe some of them were still waiting for him somewhere.

 

Despite the things that Kronos very obviously did to Methos, his friend did somehow find some of his own strength back. That was one thing he was sure of pretty early. Methos was his friend. And he was here because he wanted to help him, even if their roles were reversed for the moment.

 

“You really shouldn’t be here, Duncan.” With Kronos asleep Methos took the time to clean up his bound friend and ease his suffering.

 

“Neither of us should be here. This hell isn’t real, you said so yourself.”

 

“Real or not, it is  _ my _ hell, Highlander. I don’t remember much but I know that this is my fault, my mess to sort out.”

 

He managed a dry laugh. “That doesn’t sound too much like the Methos I remember.”

 

The other man crooked his head - intrigued. “What do you remember, Mac?”


	32. Vision X - The Last Bit

The more they talked the more bits and pieces came back to them. Something one of them said would trigger a new memory in the other and vice versa. And with each memory this place seemed to lose its hold on them, they grew stronger, even if the wounds Kronos had cut to feed himself never even begun to heal.

 

But this couldn’t go unnoticed forever of course. Kronos finally decided to return to his games with MacLeod no matter how much Methos tried to distract him.

 

He was more focussed though, less inclined to give in to pure sadism. In a way it was easier to bear but still those sessions left Duncan more exhausted than they should.

 

When Kronos took a piece of his liver out of his living body, Duncan wasn’t sure, how much longer he would make it.

 

That night Methos came quietly to his side and after letting him drink from the wineskin, offered him something to eat. Instinctively Mac began to chew and swallow not much caring where the meat had come from. But although he obviously didn’t need nourishment in this place to survive, the tiny piece of food, even if it was little and uncooked, did a lot to replenish his energy.

 

From that day forward, Methos came every night to give him small pieces of meat to help him keep his strength and Duncan began to wonder where they came from when Kronos answered that question once and for all after four nights.

 

“Here, take this MacLeod.”

 

“How DARE you?!” Kronos had slipped out of the tent and now forcefully pulled Methos’ arm away from Duncan.

 

The Highlander swallowed the piece of meat whole before risking it going to waste. He managed to move his head just enough to see how Kronos ripped the arm of Methos’ shirt away revealing an open wound. The anger flaring up in Kronos eyes was a truly terrifying sight but there was something else there. Something Duncan would have thought Kronos incapable of showing: worry for another person’s well-being.

 

“It was mine to give Kronos.” Methos sounded small, maybe sad, but there was no trace of fear in his voice.

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you think me that much of a fool? Our brother’s shadow growing paler, fading, you hiding parts of your body from me…”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Kronos. I finally figured it out. I wouldn’t have been able to do this if I hadn’t.”

 

“How can you say this…” and he violently jagged Methos’ arm in front of his face, “doesn’t matter?”

 

Methos’ face turned towards Duncan who absentmindedly registered that there was no blue paint anywhere to be seen. “I’m sorry…” He turned towards Kronos. “Because this isn’t real. I mean in a way it is - maybe more real than the outside world - but these wounds will never show there. And I’ve decided that I will let you finish what you’ve started. But I won’t let you sacrifice MacLeod for that, and giving him something back seemed to be the safest way to ensure he will survive this.”

 

“MacLeod.” Kronos face turned into an angry snarl and he seemed ready to turn on the helplessly bound Highlander.

 

Methos’ hand firmly forced Kronos’ head back to look at him. “It’s not him you’re angry with. And I think I’ve gave you more than ample opportunity to get your rage against me out of your system.”

 

“What do you care for him?” Kronos sounded almost petulant.

 

“He came here to save me, isn’t that enough?”

 

This earned him a bitter laugh. “Not with you, brother.”

 

“Whenever you came for me, Kronos it was always for yourself. He came for my sake not his own. There is a difference. And maybe, just maybe I learned from the mistakes of my past. I have done so many unforgivable things to you - as you did to me. I have used Duncan in the past as well but so far the good outweighs the bad. I want to go back to my life, Kronos, to my friends, my family. I will do what is necessary but I would prefer if I didn’t start on the body of a friend.”

 

“This IS your life, Methos.”

 

“No. This is a shadow of a memory of my life. My life lies with Joe and take-out pizza, Amanda and Neil Gaiman novels, with Eric and import beer.”

 

Methos came towards Duncan’s helplessly lying body, a knife in his hand. His eyes searched the form before him. Then a smile showed on his face and he leaned down cutting several of Duncan’s bonds. For a moment MacLeod thought that that was it, that Methos had bedazzled Kronos in some way and now simply cut him free just like that.

 

“Easier access, again sorry.” The knife cut deep into his side cutting a piece out from beneath his ribs.

 

While Duncan fought unconsciousness he could see Methos going over, giving the piece of meat to Kronos who took it with wonder in his eyes.

 

“This should be the last one.”

 

Instead of directly taking it, Kronos felt the need to ask. “Pizza, beer, novels… what about me?”

 

“You will always be a part of my life, Kronos - for better or worse. But here,” he indicated his heart, “not out in the open and certainly not in charge.”

 

As Kronos took the meat and began to chew, Methos embraced him and Duncan’s world went black.


	33. Awake Again

When Duncan opened his eyes he was half-sitting, half-leaning in the small pool of water that was the holy well. Methos was still cradled in his arms. He wasn’t sure for how long he’d been out of it, trapped in that very convincing vision. He looked up to see Amanda, Joe, and Eric standing close by, watching them worriedly.

 

“Mac.” Joe had noticed his movement first and sounded really relieved to see him becoming responsive to his surroundings once again.

 

In his arms Methos began to stir, opening his eyes and immediately starting to shiver. “Damn, I’m cold.”

 

Amanda couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. It was in a way very typical for that to be the old man’s first words after they all had worried over him for days.

 

Eric was already at the edge of the pool, offering to help his father out. For a moment Methos’ eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t say anything, just gratefully took the hands and let himself be pulled out of the water. He took one of the towels Amanda offered him, barely registering how Eric helped out Mac behind him.

 

“What happened?” Amanda demanded to know.

 

“As curious as I am, how about we first get these two dried up and into warm and dry clothes.”

 

Methos had never felt so grateful towards his Watcher friend as he did at that moment.

 

“France, huh?” While dressing Methos couldn’t help but recognize his surroundings.

 

Duncan managed a weak smile. “You never got around to showing me your secret, mystical, hidden-away, magical places on the other continents I’m afraid.”

 

“What about Darius, Connor, Fitz? Why do I have to do everything?” Another shiver ended his attempt at humor. “Calories.” He stated. God, he was hungry.

 

Eric had a chocolate bar in his face before he had even finished. “There’s a thermos with hot coffee and some sandwiches in the van.”

 

“Yeah, your kid had the foresight to pack accordingly. He knew you’d probably be ravenous when you woke up.”

 

Methos looked from Joe to Eric to MacLeod. “So I guess introductions are unnecessary.”

 

Amanda sighed. “Let’s just get you two into the van and the heater running. You’ll feel better once you have something inside you and aren’t freezing anymore.”

*

 

The warmth inside the vehicle, some food in him and the promise of more real food in the near future all did their part to make Methos feel more like himself. The memories of the well were still fresh though and he buried his face inside the cup of coffee while they drove to the nearest village.

 

Amanda drove and Duncan seemed more than happy sitting with his eyes closed on the passenger seat.

 

Joe and Eric exchanged looks. They both knew full well that Methos was currently hiding behind the coffee to keep from answering questions. But for the moment both were fine with that, content just seeing him awake and able to talk with them.

 

Joe decided to break the silence by telling his friends what had happened from his outsider perspective.

 

“You know I was hopeful when Mac took you to that well, but whatever exactly happened there had me worried for a while. Once he took you in, he closed his eyes, seemed to sink into some kind of trance. I mean he said that something like that might happen and to stay back and let it play out no matter what. But when he started screaming as if he was in pain… Thankfully it didn’t last too long. And then the sparks started.”

 

“Sparks?” For the first time MacLeod let on that he was listening as well.

 

“I don’t know how to describe it, Mac. It was almost like a quickening only slower, less violent. It seemed as if the well was grounding it somehow. I couldn’t see any wounds but it was flowing from you into him. There were a few sparks at the end that seemed to jump back but I’m not sure. And then you opened your eyes. You were in there for about an hour but it sure felt longer.”


	34. Epilogue

They booked into a small hotel and finished a generous meal all on Duncan’s credit card. Now being the last guests in the hotel’s restaurant, MacLeod studied Methos carefully who was currently cradling his German beer. 

 

“How are you feeling, old man?” Joe asked.

 

Trust the Watcher to start any real conversation. That’s one thing he’d always felt refreshing about his mortal friend. He didn’t for a moment buy into the oldest-living-immortal-hype that kept Amanda or the Highlander at a certain emotional distance.

 

“Well the headaches are gone and gone for good.” He took a swig from his bottle. “The last thing I remember is talking to Eric and then desperately trying to make it home before the headaches might knock me out. How long was I… sleeping?”

 

“Six days. You scared the hell out of me when I found you like that.”

 

“Language, boy.”

 

“This is no joking matter, Father. I came into your home and you didn’t react to my presence. You didn’t stir and nothing I could think of helped.”

 

Methos put his bottle down. The raw emotion in his son’s voice penetrating his usual shell. He took the younger man’s hand in his. “You brought in these people, my friends. I’d say you did fine.”

 

“What happened, Methos? I remember what happened inside the well but I can make little to no sense out of it.”

 

“Thank you for bringing me to that place, Highlander. Going in there with me might have been the most foolish thing you’ve ever done, but thanks anyway, I’m not sure it would have worked on its own.”

 

“Methos, stop distracting.” Joe was getting impatient with the old man’s evasion tactics.

 

“You said you’ve worked it out.”

 

Methos looked down on his hands which had grabbed his beer again, searching for the right words, explaining enough but keeping it so vague that he wouldn’t give up too much to Amanda or more importantly Eric.

 

“It was Kronos all along.”

 

“Kronos died years ago. MacLeod made sure of that.”

 

“Yes, and that should have been the end of it. But I was there too when he died. I took Silas’ head at the same moment as Duncan killed him. I don’t know if MacLeod ever told you but something happened at that moment. Something we didn’t understand.”

 

“The double quickening.”  The Highlander remembered but he didn’t understand.

 

“The intermingling, the mix of two quickenings. Kronos despised you Mac. He didn’t want you to be his last resting place, the recipient of his power.”

 

MacLeod snorted. “Too bad for him that he didn’t have a choice.”

 

“And that’s where you’re wrong. Usually a quickening goes and rests within the closest Immortal. But we were very close. And with two quickenings happening simultaneously he obviously found a way. Not that he was completely successful but parts of him went into me.”

 

“Are you sure?” Amanda couldn’t imagine something like this. It went against everything she had been told all her life.

 

“Back then I didn’t understand. But looking back… some of the dreams I had back then. I filed them away as nightmares and bad memories but now I’m pretty sure it was more than that. And we were probably lucky that it happened that way. Taking in Kronos so shortly after taking Kaspian, I’m sure it would have proven worse than Coltec.”

 

“You took Silas.” MacLeod stated doubtfully.

 

Methos smiled sadly. “Silas was harmless in the great scheme of things and I didn’t take Kronos fully either.” He felt it was pointless to argue that he would far better be able to handle that kind of energy than the Highlander could ever hope to be.

 

“After a while things seemed to settle down. The headaches began when I first stayed away from MacLeod for too long. Apparently Kronos’ splinters if you will wanted to be reunited. You remember how I was when I came back to Seacouver?”

 

Joe nodded. “Yeah but things got better I mean I don’t know what…”

 

“Simple, the headaches ebbed away once I regularly came into contact with MacLeod. I don’t know if it was the long time in between or simply the fact that the longer the split lasted the more pressing it became to re-unite, but when Eric appeared and... Well...” He made a vague gesture indicating that a good friend and his son were trying to kill each other. “The added stress obviously gave Kronos an opening and it took all I had to fight him.”

 

“But it’s been twenty years since his death.”

 

“Kronos was not only immensely powerful and old, he was also a stubborn and dominant bastard. I think the split is what ultimately kept him from settling down for good though, if that is any reassurance,”

 

“You said you think the headaches are gone for good?”

 

“That was the idiotic, genius-by-accident move by our friend. When he went inside the water with me, we were connected. Kronos could finally access the parts of him that were missing.”

 

“ _ That’s _ what he was after.” MacLeod’s hand subconsciously touched the places where pieces had been cut out of him.

 

“The metaphorical language of the vision was a bit crude but yes - obviously.”

 

“How is that obvious. It wasn’t to me.”

 

“Whenever he took from you he changed, Duncan. At first he just got stronger, more real. But I noticed other things - where you couldn’t see. He became less of an angry psychopath and more of the real Kronos he used to be in life. He took from you what was his.”

 

“It was mine by right.” MacLeod protested.

 

“Well if you want it you will have to take it from me, Highlander.” Although stated calmly, there was an underlying threat to his words. “I gave you of Silas what I could still identify, severing our bond. Kronos now rests with me, probably the only safe place there is for his quickening. He is - finally - at peace.”

 

There was little MacLeod could do to argue but he wasn’t ready to let things stand like that. “Kronos was a monster.”

 

“So he doesn’t deserve peace? Not even in death? Who are you to judge others this harshly? I’ve known him far better than you, Highlander, and although - yes, he was a monster - I’m not that righteously angry that I want to punish him beyond the grave.” Methos stood up. “So now you’ve got your answers, Joe. Maybe make some anonymous account for the Watchers about double quickenings being tricky and dangerous business. Although I doubt this will happen again in the next couple of millennia. I’m off to bed.”

*

 

That night Methos dreamed of Kronos and for the first time in an eternity it wasn’t a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I hope you enjoyed the ride :)


End file.
